I'm a dirty half-virgin
only because of lacking of occasion.
The first was the Blond
Persian
Prince friend
to whom I didn't ask for anything.
(The strong desire
to kiss his lips
when we met again in middle school.
The stolen white ass cheeks at the pool...)
Then the Saracen
Ali of Philology.
To him, I never asked.
I wanted to.
(The flashy striped hat
in the je-suis-charlie photo he posted
Finally made me fall out of love)
And the supposed pornstar
who offered a handjob
which I declined.
And the first date.
The-Man-with-the-Pigeon-Neck
across the night in San Berillio neighborhood.
(I still hold dear the biscuit-smelling
white paper).
He never called back.
And that guy, the pushy
Gym Suit Feticist.
I can still feel his leg rubbing against mine
while I try to watch Thor: Ragnarok.
Sorry, man. I must have
misinterpreted the allusion of your invitation.
Then it came the time of the Big Hot Cat
who boringly played
a little with my virginity
like it was a wounded bird.
At last, here it is The-Man-Who-Smiles.
I'm afraid his teeth are just
a mirror maze which sooner or later
will break my reflected heart.
YOU ARE READING
KATARTICO
PoetryOtto poesie accompagnate da disegni realizzate originariamente in forma di minizine per un contest. Scritte in italiano e auto-tradotte in inglese. Prosegue in "Non sto bene. E va bene così." Attenzione: questa opera contiene rappresentazioni di dis...
